


Icarus

by Lee123



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Homophobia, Homophobic Slurs, I really twisted the knife for this one, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Pining, Self Harm, Unrequited Love, but I swear it has a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 13:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13547877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lee123/pseuds/Lee123
Summary: Basil had always had a habit of flying too close to the sun......The story of how Basil’s wings melted and how he learned to fly again.





	Icarus

**Author's Note:**

> Second fic!! I’ve been working on this for months, and I’ve wanted to write a carry on fic for a long time now and I’m really glad I’m publishing it! Thank you everyone who supported my first fic Starting Anew - I promise I’m not done with Ari and Dante! Expect more of them and HOPEFULLY! Soon a kagehina fic that has been in the works for literal years. Thanks again for all the encouragement! Enjoy!

Basil was ten when his father brought Daphne over for the first time.

“Basilton. I would like you to meet someone. This is Daphne.” Daphne smiled at him, mouth full of pearls. His father held her like she was a trophy. She reached down and offered Basil her hand.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Basilton. I’ve heard many wonderful things about you.”

He didn’t know how to react. He knew what was coming. He shook her hand anyway. She seemed nice enough. It wasn’t her fault that Basil felt betrayed and more alone than ever before.

“Likewise. Father? May I speak to you alone?” His father sighed as Daphne stood back up. He grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles before gesturing towards the door.

“A moment please, darling.” Daphne smiled at them, then began walking towards the door.

“Of course, dear. Basilton.” She nodded towards him. “I look forward to getting to know you.”

Basil sneered back. “The pleasure is all mine.” He made sure to add some sarcasm to his voice.

His father frowned at him as soon as Daphne shut the door. “That was quite impolite, Basilton. You will apologize.”

He sighed, and gulped. “Of course, father. I would just like to know why I wasn’t aware of you and this new... woman.”

“I’ve been seeing Daphne for a few years now-“

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

His father raised his chin at Basil, emphasizing his height, his power. “You will use no such tone with me, Basilton.”

He looked down. “Of course, father. I’m sorry.” Basil bit the inside of his cheek. “I presume you want to marry her.”

“I would like to, yes.” His father pulled a chair from behind him (rather from thin air; teleportation was always Malcom’s specialty) and sat down, legs crossed and back straight. “I would like to hear your ideas on that.”

“Are you asking for my approval?”

His father raised his eyebrow. “I suppose that’s the simplified version.”

Basil swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. “Excuse me, but I can’t see why.” His father was taken aback, Basil could tell. “I have no reason to protest, father. You’ll marry her either way, right?”

His father licked his lips and sat back in his chair. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Then there’s no reason to ask me.”

“Are you okay, Basil?”

He nodded. He wanted to ask for his mother, and for her to hold his hand like she would when he was a boy. His heart wrenched. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Malcom sat up, shooting his cuffs, like always. “I’ll leave you be then. Thank you, Basilton. If you need me again, just yell.”

His father left his room. Basil stood staring at the door.

He refused to cry. He hid in the woods during the wedding reception so his melancholy wouldn’t destroy poor Daphne’s special day.

—

Basil was about to start his first term at Watford when his father sent him hunting on his own.

“But father-“

“Basilton. You’re becoming a man. I won’t be there to hold your hand when you leave for school,” Malcom repeated, pushing his son out the door.

“But what if I’m seen?”

“You know the right spells.”

“What if I can’t find anything?”

“Stay out as long as you need, Basil. You have a cellphone for a reason.”

He turned and grabbed his father’s wrists. “Father, please, please don’t send me out on my own. I can’t.”

“Do you want to go to Watford or not?”

Basil dropped his hands, mouth hanging open. His lip quivered.

“If you cannot do such things on your own, in secret, you will have no chance to carry on your namesake.”

Again with the namesake. It’s not like his father was a real pitch. Why didn’t Fiona care about her god foresaken namesake?

Nevertheless, he went.

He cried his entire way home.

—

Basil was eleven when came face to face with the sun.

Of course he had heard of Simon Snow; his father’s colleagues wouldn’t stop talking about the mysterious boy, brought to Watford by the Mage himself.

He would be the one to take him down, of course. “Familial duties,” His father called them. “It’s your legacy to take down the Mage down, Basil. This is your destiny.”

Sure it was.

Basil was wearing a suit, naturally. He was a Pitch, after all.

His name was called, and he was told to stand next to another first year. He took a step away from the ratty boy standing next to him, who was, unfortunately, going to be his roommate. He had curly, dirty hair. His white shirt had moth holes and stains that even Basil, as advanced as he was, couldn’t identify. His pants were dirty and ripped and wearing at the hems, and his Chuck Taylor’s were tattered. One didn’t even have a shoelace.

He held a red ball and he wouldn’t stop playing with it. Bounce, bounce, bounce, all the way up to their dorm.

“Would you stop with the blasted ball?”

Snow looked him in the eye, grimacing. Simon Snow has beautiful eyes. Basil recoiled, and Snow giggled. “I like this ball. The headmaster gave it to me.” He held it like it was a prize, and looked at it as if he had gone through hell to get it (he sure looked like he had).

“What? You’ve never seen a ball before? What’s wrong with your parents?”

Simon looked back at him and frowned. “I’m an orphan.” He had a cute pout. For once, Basil was pleased by the lack of blood in his body (otherwise he’d be redder than a beet).

“Oh. So that’s why you look like that.” Basil hadn’t meant to say it. It merely slipped. Snow suddenly turned mad, and threw the ball at Basil; which he dodged easily.

“Twat.”

Basil smiled, not because had gotten under Snow’s skin. He was cute when he was angry. Basil wanted to pinch his cheeks.

Snow fake smiled at him, before picking his ball up and walking out the room, grimacing.

Basil had never seen a smile beautiful.

—

It was the end of fourth year when Basil got his heart broken.

He was walking back from the Wavering Wood, when he saw Simon Snow share a kiss with Agatha Welbove.

Agatha. He had heard her name before. She wasn’t very bright, but she was beautiful. Her parents were wealthy and she was an only child. Long blonde hair, stunning brown eyes, everything a boy could hope for.

Basil never saw the appeal really. He never yearned for her like the boys in his class.

So why was it that he felt like his world was shattering around that kiss?

He couldn’t get it out of his brain. All he wanted was to switch places with Agatha. He wanted to throw her across the green and take Simon Snow by his stupid shoulders and kiss his stupid mouth. Basil wanted to shove his tongue down Simon Snow’s stupid throat, and run his hands down his stupid chest, and run his hands through his stupid hair.

He knew he was meant to kill Simon Snow. He had to. It was his familial duty. It was the only way to carry on his mother’s legacy.

So why did his heart wrench when he thought of it?

—

It was the summer before fifth year when Basil admitted to himself that he was in love with Simon Snow. He felt it every day, every second. Every time he saw the sky in its blue brilliance (even if only for a moment; he could only stand it for seconds before the sun threatened to burn out his vampire eyes), every night when he looked up at the tiny suns and the yellow hue of the moon, he would think: nothing can compare. Nothing could come close. Nothing was as perfectly bright and beautiful as the boy he could never have.

The painful part was that nothing had changed. He still pathetically cried himself to sleep because his extra-large king sized mattress was too big; too solitary, too lonely. He still would start school and have to look Simon Snow in the face. He would still be expected to be the one to kill Simon Snow. He would still be the one in his family who would weep during the celebration.

He thought of it constantly. He thought, maybe, he could get one kiss in, just one, as Simon Snow was taking his last breath, he would be satisfied. Snow wouldn’t remember; and his last moment would be spent kissing the smartest boy in the class.

On the other hand, his family would find out one way or another. And have him burnt at the steak.

No, maybe Basil was born to be damned. Maybe he’s the reason Simon shines brightly every where he goes.

—

Basil had tried to kill himself; to no avail. He would slit both his wrists, yet the limited amount of blood in his body disregarded his wound. He would end up spelling it healed after a few seconds. It only made him feel dizzy and distraught. He had taken a wand to his finger, seeing if fire would do anything. It did; he howled before plunging his hand into the puddle gathering in the garage. He decided that fire is a full body experience, one he wasn’t ready for.

He had tried to leap off the roof platform from his bedroom a week before his birthday; his term at Watford hadn’t officially started, and he was dreading his reunion with Snow. He was also drunk off of an expensive bottle of vodka that he found in his aunt’s room. He was standing right outside the window, when Vera reached out and yanked him in by his wrists. Basil hit the rug knees first, and looked up at his maid.

“W-what are you...doing?” He was shaking, his lip trembling. “Why did you pull me back?”

Vera was looking back down on Basil, her mouth agape and her actions screamed distress distress distress; it was written all over her distorted face and shaking hands. She looked like she was about to cry. And she did. She dropped down to her knees and pulled Basil into her chest.

His father had told him many times that the maids and butlers were to be treated as such, and Basil had always gone out of his way to secretly rebel against that. Servants or not, they were people. They were also adults; no need to be disciplined and ignored as if they were bothersome little children (like the ones his step-mother couldn’t seem to stop having). He knew he wasn’t expected to be alone with Vera for more than a matter of seconds, not expected to tell her anything more than what he simply desired her to do. He knew all of this; yet here he was, pulled into he chest like she was a mother who had just found her son who was lost in the woods.

He started crying. He hugged her back and leaned into her shoulder and wept, and she held him like he would collapse if she let go (he probably would). She stroked his hair and he could feel her holding back her tears.

He didn’t know how long it had been before he regained his composure. He did know that maybe, there was slight chance, a mere possibility, that he wasn’t alone. That there was an unspoken friendship between them.

Vera got up as soon as he started to pull back. She dusted off her skirt and Basil got up too. Before she left, she grabbed his face and kissed his forehead. She smiled softly, a smile that said loud and clear, “I’m here for you.” He mustered a smile as best he could before she gathered her duster and left as if nothing happened.

If he wanted to, Basil could have told his father. Another worker could have walked by and said something. Vera would have been fired, and possibly arrested. He went out of his way to make sure no one had seen, and had gone so far as to pay those who had not to tell.

Maybe he cared too much. But you could never be too careful.

—

Basil’s birthday passed without incident. He had a slice of chocolate cake and his five year old sister made him a card (He dreaded the fact that he cared about her opinion about him. She was a pest, but he still felt an odd, brotherly duty to love her).

He was with Fiona when he asked her to take him to the mall.

“Why?”

“I have money. Lots of it. And I want to spend it.”

“Why can’t you ask your father?”

“That would require me to talk to him- and spend quality time with him.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Please, Fiona? I’m your favorite nephew, aren’t I?”

She winced, sighed, and put the keys in the ignition. “Enough of the guilt trips, Basil. I can only take so much.”

With a sinister grin, he asked: “They work don’t they?”

-

Three hours after Fiona dropped him back home, after Basil had fed on a deer and three rats and was full as a small bird on Christmas, Basil remembered that he had left something in Fiona’s car.

She had dropped him into the mall and at his request, stayed in the car. He did go to the mall; it was his only way to get to the clinic while being discreet.

The man at the desk was obviously queer-Basil felt a sense of shame to even be associated with such flamboyant men such as these- his button down shirt was open past his stomach (so you could see his waxed chest and nipple piercings), and he was wearing eyeliner. Of all things, Basil thought. Then cringed. He felt like his father.

He asked for a self acceptance guide that he had read about online in a post-breakdown internet search (How to tell if you’re gay).

After he received the pamphlet, the man thought it would be a good idea to make things even more awkward for Basil.

“Hey! You’re not alone kid. It only gets better once you accept it!” Basil looked back. The man, though ridiculous, looked sincere. Not like Basil believed him. But he smiled and nodded anyhow, and walked out.

Basil bought a suit and a watch on his way out to hide the paper. It wasn’t until he had gotten back from the woods when he realized that it was not in either of his bags, or in any of his pockets.

He ran frantically to his father’s study, composing himself before knocking and going in.

“Is everything alright, Basil?” His father showed minimal concern.

“I’m fine, Father. Is Fiona still here?”

“Why would she still be here, Basil? Do you need something?” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“I need Fiona. Do you know where she is?”

“Basil-“ as if on queue, Fiona ran into the room.

“Malcom, where- oh. Basil. You left your suit in my car.”

“You bought a suit?”

“No questions. Come on, kid. ” She grabbed his hand and pulled. “We’ll be back in just a minute, Malcom,” she yelled, dragging Basil to her Car.

They were halfway down the hall when Basil composed himself. “Fiona, I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’m sure I took the suit upstairs-“

“Shut up.”

She practically threw Basil into the passenger side of the car, and got in on her own. She leaned over, pulled the pamphlet from her glove compartment, and held it next to her face.

“Care to explain?”

Basil couldn’t talk. His mouth hung open and he could see himself in the reflection in the window (he refused to look Fiona in the eye). He regretted drinking as much as he did, considering he could feel heat rushing to his face.

“Okay. Don’t. I don’t care.” She threw it into his lap. “But don’t let your father see that. Or anyone.”

He felt his eyes well up. “You... why didn’t you... why did you keep it?” Basil felt himself getting angrier and angrier. “Why are you making such a big deal out of it?”

“Baz-“

“That’s not mine! I have no idea where you got that or- or why you think it’s mine-“

“Baz.” She grabbed his shoulder with one hand, then put the other on his face.

“Get off of me!”

“No. Baz, stop- listen to me, dammit-”

“Fiona! Please, I want to go back-“

“No, and stop it, let me-“

“Unhand me!”

Basil had never cast a spell without his wand. He stopped yelling when Fiona hit the window with a bang.

It’s not like he was going to apologize. He felt bad, but he was already crying and she knew he was gay.

She shook her head, and sat back up. She even chuckled. “You’re so much like your mother, you know that?”

Fiona reached for him again, and he let her. She grabbed his face, wiping his tears (Basil saw this as pointless; he kept crying anyway) and slid her hands down to his shoulders.

“You don’t have to answer this, Basil. But If you do, I want you to do it honestly, and know that whatever happens, nothing is changing between us. Okay?”

He nodded.

“Are you gay?”

He couldn’t find it in himself to answer, he just let his voice crack when he opened his mouth, and when he tried to say ‘No,’ it came out as a sob.

He didn’t want to admit it. He told himself that just because he was in love with a boy, just because he had been disgusted when he was pursued by Tiffany MacKenzie (American Exchange student; only paralleled by Agatha Welbove), just because he felt his heart pound and his skin prickle whenever he saw his father’s intern; strong and lean and a dusting of facial hair, just because he touched himself only to the thought of a boy’s hands and lips (A very specific boy) on his chest and his neck and everywhere; It didn’t mean he was gay, not necessarily speaking. What would that mean anyway? Should he start wearing sequins and carrying purses and care about makeup and whatever Paris Hilton was doing at the moment? Did that mean he would be shunned by his family and required to change his name from ‘Pitch’ to ‘Faggot’? Would he be kicked off the football team, in fear that he would develop a crush on one of his teammates? He was already a vampire, for snake’s sake. Did he have to be betrayed by all aspects of his biology?

He wanted to deny it, he wanted to fight it with every part of his being. But he just cried. He cried and cried, because Basil was never one to doubt himself, was always so self-aware, even to a fault, and he knows, he knows he can’t change this. That it’s programmed into his brain and he knows he’s gay, but he can’t say it. He just couldn’t. So he just cried pathetically.

Fiona pulled him in for a hug. There was no shame in this; She had become like a mother to him.

“It’s okay, Baz. It’s okay.”

Basil pulled back. “Please don’t tell my father. I know you all talk and-“

“Shhh.” She wipes his tears. “This stays between us, okay?”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No, Baz. Of course not. I love you.”

He fell back into her shoulder. I love you too, Fiona.

—

Naturally, his father found out anyway.

Basil was practicing his violin when his father entered the library, sitting behind his son. Basil outed an incorrect chord, and lowered his instrument in frustration.

“Father, do you think I should just move on from German composers? Japan has some great violinists. So does America.”

“Your mother loves Germany.” He leaned forward, his face blank. “Speaking of which, how did you meet that girl?”

“What girl?”

“When we went to France. That girl, Basilton. Amille.”

“Oh.” Basil remembered her. He saw her sketch while he was browsing in a library, and he complimented her on it. She showed him the rest of her sketchbook, and she forgot that she drew lots of women, and snatched the book away from him when he turned to a notably explicit page. It turned out that they were in similar situations: both closeted, both in love with someone they could never have, both would be shunned and shamed if they came out.

They hung out the rest of the trip, talking about art and love and how if they weren’t both gay they would make a terrifying couple, and how they would continue to talk after Basil went home.

“I saw her drawing at the library.”

“You two never stopped talking.”

“No.”

“Do you still?”

“On occasion.”

“She was pretty.”

“And?”

“I wouldn’t mind you marrying a french woman, Basil.”

“Father, please. She’s a normal. I’m a-“

“You don’t have to say it. She doesn’t have to know.”

“Sure she doesn’t. That makes perfect sense.”

“Tone, Basilton.”

Basil sighed. “Look, father, it wasn’t like that.”

“How are you ever going to marry if you don’t care for any girl you meet?”

“Why does it have to be a...“ he stopped. He knew the answer to that question. He felt a boulder form in his stomach. “Why does it have to be me?”

“You’re the heir to the Pitch family, Basilton.”

“I didn’t ask to be,” he muttered. Malcom stood up and looked down at Basilton.

“You what?” Basilton was up to his shoulder. He hoped he would keep growing; he couldn’t stand to be this short forever.

“I...didn’t ask to be born into this family.”

“Well that’s too bad, isn’t it?” Malcom leaned in closer. “I didn’t ask to have a queer son.”

“What?” Basil stepped back.

“Basilton, I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen the way you watch people.” Malcom followed him, to push his power onto Basil. Basil wanted to cast him far away, all the way to Timbuktu. But he knew his father would come back and hit him twice as hard. While Basil had more power, his father had more experience.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about-“

“Don’t play dumb with me!” Malcom slammed his hand against a bookshelf, causing Basil to jump. “Listen to me. No matter how much you feel, or cry, or wish, you have a duty to your family, a reputation to uphold, and I will not let you, a fairy, ruin that for the rest of us!”

“Don’t call me that,” Basil whispered, looking at the ground.

“What?”

He looked his father in the eyes. “Don’t. Call. Me. A fairy.” Basil sneered. “Call me a faggot. Or a queer. You will not bring me as low as those bottom feeding, wastes of magic.”

His father took a step back. “I’m very disappointed in you, Basilton.”

Basil walked past him and began setting up different sheet music. “What else is new.”

He and his father acted as though the conversation never happened. But they both knew, and each would reference it from time to time with snide remarks in passing; His father mocking him whenever an objectively pretty woman walked by them, and Basil flaunting his other accomplishments and doing his best to show his father that he was more than another queer mage; that he was still a Pitch, still his mother’s son, still worthy of his status and reputation.

Both of them knew that things had changed between them, and that there was no chance of it getting better.

—

Basil was pleasantly surprised when Simon Snow- of all people- showed up in his foyer.

Basil wasn’t dressed for such a reunion; he was wearing a silk shirt and jeans, his usual day clothes. Had he known, he would’ve worn his most expensive suit, and greeted him with a cigar and a glass of wine, just to piss him off.

“Baz...You’re-You’re wearing jeans.”

“I am. And you’re wearing the entire countryside.”

It reminded Baz of when they first met; except this time the mud was anticipated. And they were both here by choice.

Simon Snow was at his house. By choice.

Basil could feel his magic the entire way upstairs.

-

“Mordelia? What are you doing up?” Basil was just returning from his hunt when his little sister tip-toed down the stairs.

“Why is the chosen one staying here?”

“Don’t call him that. It’s too dark for him to go back to Watford. And you still haven’t answered my question.”

Mordelia giggled, then stood next to Basil. “I’m looking for Father Christmas.”

“He doesn’t come until Christmas, Mordelia. Hence the name.”

“But doesn’t he look through the house to see where he’s gonna come in?”

“No. He already knows.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve met him.”

“Will you tell him I’ve been extra good this year?”

“Not if you don’t go to bed.”

“Can you tuck me back in?”

“Weren’t you already tucked in?”

“I was thirsty.”

“I thought you were looking for Father Christmas?”

They stared each other down for a few seconds. “Please, Basil?” She gave him a look, and he had to look away so he wouldn’t immediately give in. He knew if he didn’t, she would start crying (for attention), which would wake up her mother and father and probably Snow too, and he didn’t want to be scolded and embarrassed.

“Fine. Come on, then.” He finished his water and began walking behind Mordelia. “You’re a brat. Do you know that?”

“Grandmother says so.”

“She’s right.”

“Well that makes you a brat too.” She grabbed his hand and began walking beside him. “Because you’re my brother.”

Morelia hadn’t known that they were only half siblings; Her parents hadn’t bothered to tell her, and Basil wasn’t going to be the one to do it.

“Attitude doesn’t spread through genes.”

“What?”

“Nevermind.”

When Basil returned to his room, he looked at Simon’s on his way back to the bed.

He lingered, then went back to bed before making a mistake.

He thought about how much Simon had to go through to get to him. It pulled at his heart strings as he settled himself in his room.

Just as he was falling asleep, he heard a knock at his door.

He was greeted by Simon Snow- again. Basil was too tired to get flustered. “What?”

“I’m leaving. That room is haunted.”

“The whole house is haunted, I told you.”

“I’m leaving.”

“Come on, Snow,” Basil said, stepping out of the doorway. “You can sleep on my couch. The wraiths don’t hang out in here.”

“Why not?”

“I creep them out.”

“You creep me out.” Basil ignored the sting, and threw a pillow at his roommate.

Basil stared at Snow from across the room and noticed how peacefully he slept. He thought that maybe his own presence was comforting to Simon, but he didn’t allow himself to indulge like that. It would only hurt him when Simon left.

—

Its the night before Christmas Eve, and Simon and Basil have moved to the couch. Their bodies were parallel, and as much as Basil would like to, he refuses to bring himself closer. He may bite Simon (though he hasn’t yet, nor has he wanted to), or grind his hips against the other’s. He settled, and was satisfied, with Simon’s hand on his face and the other arm wrapped around his neck. Their ankles overlapped, and Basil felt soft and his insides were fluttering.

“Do you want to go to sleep?”

“Kinda.” Simon was whispering; it tugged at Basil’s heart to hear him like this: intimately. Close. “I’m tired.” His face moved towards Basil’s and he rubbed their noses together before lightly brushing Basil’s lips with his own. “But...”

“But?”

“Don’t get up. Stay with me.”

“Snow.”

“Simon.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Simon’s eyes fluttered open just slightly; he peered at Basil from under his eyelashes. “Stay.” Basil felt Simon’s hand stroking the nape of his neck.

It’s not like he wanted to get up. He wanted to hold Simon against him and never ever let him leave. He wanted to freeze time and stay secret lovers until Simon died, the rest of his life being spent madly in love with Basil in their own little world.

It was impossible of course: it would have taken all the magic in the world (including that of which the humdrum had consumed), plus some to freeze time past an hour. It was also illegal after it exceeded five minutes. But wishing wasn’t illegal.

Basil kissed him briefly, then asked: “You really want this?”

Simon kissed him again. Then again. “Yes.” Then again, slower and longer. Simon blushes, and meets Basil’s eyes again. “Don’t you?” He sounds insecure; like if Basil were to hesitate for even a second, Simon would get up and leave.

But he did hesitate; Simon’s mouth hung open wider than usual, and he shifted before Basil began choking out words. “Yes. Simon- Yes.” Basil pressed his face forward, and their noses and foreheads were pressed together and he could feel Simon’s breath in his mouth. “More than anything,” he muttered. Simon’s mouth twitched, then his face broke in half and he grinned like he had just won a stuffed animal for his girlfriend even though he was terrible at throwing.  
  
“Okay.” He looked down to Basil’s mouth. “Then stay.”

Simon pulled Basil so his head was between Simon’s neck and shoulder, and Simon pressed his lips into Basil’s hair.

He kept his hands around Simon’s waist lazily, but planned to get up after Simon fell asleep.

But his eyes were heavy, and Simon’s finger’s through his hair felt like a lullaby. And he still smelled like burnt sweets, like bacon ice cream or a fried Oreo. (He had one when he went to America; his father got sick, and banned them from their household.) (It wasn’t even the Oreos that did it; he had also had a corn dog, popcorn, chips with vinegar and cheese and chili, and went on four rollercoasters.) And he was here and held all the warmth that had left Basil when he was a boy.

He let himself drift off to sleep. He would indulge himself now, expecting things to change in the morning.

Maybe he deserved to have this one night to himself.

—

Except, things didn’t change in the morning. That night, Simon asked Basil to be his boyfriend.

Basil couldn’t remember ever being as happy as his was in that moment.

—

And he thought things would change the next day. But Simon fell into Baz’s arms, bloody and beaten and vulnerable, and stayed there; even found comfort in it.

“It’s going to be okay.” Basil said, pulling his arms around Simon- his boyfriend- “It’s alright, love.” He saw Bunce look at them with a look of surprise- but also with a look that said, “Oh. This isn’t so bad.”

Basil hoped she was okay with it. The last thing he wanted was to make Simon choose between them.

Simon fell asleep in Basil’s arms after crying for a few minutes. Basil didn’t let go of his boyfriend, but got every bird in a five meter radius of them into his stomach.

-

“So you and Simon?” Bunce asked, after they had all awoken and stood in the lawn.

Basil smiled at her. “Ask the chosen one.”

Simon smiled at him, weakly, and kissed his jaw. “Yeah. Yeah. We’re boyfriends now.”

“Since when?”

“Last night.”

“You didn’t call.”

“Was I supposed too?”

Bunce rolled her eyes at him, then walked over and kissed his cheek. Basil was taken aback for a second, before he realized that she had probably done that plenty of times before; and that she had a boyfriend.

And so did Simon.

—

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” Simon choked. “I really didn’t. Even if I could’ve helped it-“

“Even though he killed your friend’s mother?”

Baz wanted to object; he was no lawyer, but he knew that was out of line. Maybe he was biased, but this seemed like badgering to him. And he knew all about badgering.

“Yes.” That hurt him too; but Basil understood where he came from. “And-and, this isn’t the fact that we’re only been b-” He looked at Baz, and decided that their relationship should go unstated. ”-friends since this year started. I just-“ he began to break down; his head fell into his hands and he wept. “I never wanted anybody to get hurt.”

The lawyer stepped away from the stand. “I have no further questions, your honor.”

The Coven had picked its best lawyer to persecute Simon. Basil found it ironic that no one had bothered to have him tried; he was the one who wanted the Mage dead.

Simon’s lawyer (Basil had picked him out himself) walked up to the stand next. “I only have one question, Simon. Can you answer one question?”

Simon nodded; his cheeks and nose were pink and his eyes were wet. Basil wanted to hold him and brush his hair back and do everything else that he was allowed to do now that they were together.

“Can you explain exactly how the Mage died?”

Simon paused. Basil was shaking again. Bunce grabbed his hand; she was worried too, and he didn’t bother to pull away.

“Penny casted- casts, ‘Simon Says,’ and even I knew what that meant, I mean, it’s my name-“ he laughed pathetically, then continued. “-and I said...” his voice trailed off.

“Yes?”

“I said...’st-stop.’ I said, ‘stop hurting me.’ And then he...well. You know.” He wiped his eyes.

“And- excuse me, but- did you realize that the Mage’s actions were hurtful towards you before then?”

Simon shook his head. “I thought- I always wanted to believe, that, well... I thought he was trying. And he was the only one who really, really felt like family to me. Like real family. And even...even when I hated his guts, I always thought he was just trying to protect me. And I guess he was. Just not in the right way.”

—

Simon was found not guilty. Basil got them a hotel room with two beds; Simon insisted that they push them together. Simon wore his undershirt and some sweats that Bunce had left for him in her car. Baz kept his suit pants on as well as his own undershirt- that he realized was more fitted than he remembered (he became much more aware when he noticed Simon staring at his chest).

They were in an awkward position; Basil was leaning on one elbow, with the other arm around Simon’s shoulder. Simon’s other shoulder dig into Basil’s chest, and he kept his hand on Basil’s torso and his head on Basil’s clavicle.

Simon fell asleep curled up into Basil, with both his arms around Basil’s neck.  
  
Basil fell asleep grinning.

He woke up again when Simon was sitting up, panting, his wings spread behind him. Basil tried his best to comfort his frightened lover, both of them quiet and relaxed when Simon spoke up.

"I do love you, you know." Simon said just as Basil was drifting to sleep. "I just, I'm-" he sighed, then pulled himself closer to Basil’s pulse. "I dunno. I feel like I'm cheating. Not on you, I mean- I get dumped, then I just realize I've liked you all along. Penny explained it to be one day. I don't know how I didn't catch on, but...

"It doesn't feel right. Like, you just scooped me up when I got to a low point. It doesn't seem fair. To you, I mean.

"But I do love you. You're not just some, I dunno, Agatha replacement.

"It took me until she dumped me to realize I wasn't even happy with her. I mean, I was, but I could've been happier. I'm happier now." That's when he sat up, and he looked right down on Basil. "Are you listening?"

Basil looked at him in awe. “Yes.” He pulled Simon onto his chest. “Of course love.”

Simon smiled at him. He closed his eyes and placed a kiss on Basil’s neck.

“I really love you Baz.”

Basil couldn’t even respond. He pressed his lips into Simon’s head and caressed his back until they both fell asleep.

—

Basil never liked the story of Icarus; it reminded him too much of himself. Young, ambitious, reckless. He thought that like Icarus, he would fly to close to the sun and fall to a harsh and deserved death.

But standing across from Simon Snow, their hands intertwined in front of a magikal priest, Basil considered why he ever compared himself to such a story.

He considered the fact that his sun was here, in front of him, and his love was no longer unrequited, and he was happier than he had ever been in his life.

They did all the things that Basil had wanted to do since he was 13: they went to events as a couple, they danced, they made love (quite often), they kissed, they held hands, they slept together, they talked about children and their friends.

They had their fair share of trials; but with Simon enrolled in Culinary school and Basil with a secured position with the Coven, their lives were looking up.

Everything was looking up.

And of course Basil didn’t have to worry about flying into the sun; his sun was three inches shorter than him and was wrapping his arms around basil’s neck, pulling him for their first kiss as husbands.

Icarus was damned to the bottom of the ocean, and for all Basil cared, the bastard could stay there.

Baz was on top of the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments/constructive criticism always appreciated !!! I’m on instagram and tumblr too-
> 
> Ig : @leetrash 
> 
> Tumblr: @tonysona


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